


Godo VS Heidegger

by schxbetta



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schxbetta/pseuds/schxbetta
Summary: Set during the Wutai War, a fight ensues.





	Godo VS Heidegger

His eyes catch sight of the menace, Godo Kisaragi. 

One man had stood for Wutai, rebelled and rallied his troops when the ShinRa had come down upon them.

NO - he’d said, taking a stand to the implementation of fascism. The fight had hardly been bloody until Heidegger had suggested that they take Wutai by FORCE. 

Heidegger’s sword rests at his side - a herculean testament to his strength, a Greatsword infused with only the finest metal and materia. Slots complete with a Blinding elemental and a constant Mighty Guard. Heidegger’s strength is as much his shield than anything else. 

Ahead of him stands Godo, the sorcerer; the samurai. The man with all of Wutai behind him. 

Godo could pretend he was something far removed from Heidegger but the fact of the matter is that they’re both as bloodthirsty and twisted as each other. Two men, two egos; flesh and bone as their weapons, souls as their reason. Both would fight for the RIGHTEOUS and the JUST or at least their own versions of it.

It had been only a matter of time before their final bout - their egos inflating the battlefield that they so terribly basked in.

In the near distance, one can hear the sounds of screams of men (men younger than them) and the screeches of Chocobos used for steeds. Fire and smoke clouds the air with bitter fumes assaulting the senses. The ocean close-by and a shower of rain does little to wash away the scourge of blood that has so callously painted the land. Men lay dead, monsters feeding off of their remains as ShinRa machinery batters down more of the living. 

Immediately beside Heidegger sits a plantation of natural Wutai growth, bamboo trees and leaves sprouting near. Close enough to remind him that he isn’t home, despite the familiarity of the blood and scorn from the battlefield. 

Above the battle - the skies are grey, ash and brewing storm taints them. Gods weeping over them a faint drizzle.

Godo speaks, his voice softer than Heidegger’s yet still stern with resolute confidence. 

“We will die before we surrender to the likes of you-” 

Heidegger rivals such stubbornness with his own, a large hand scooping up the haft of his great-sword as he throws it behind one shoulder and steps forth. His uniform consists half of armour and half of burnt material. Azure fabric worn and torn by one too many Firaga spells. Compared to Godo, he represents his half of the world (or rather, the company) as if he’s dressed as the aftermath of a battle. Crimson scars his forehead and body, dirt darkens his skin and the wet of rain leaves straggles of hair across his forehead. 

Opposite him, Godo appears elegant. The deep purple kimono he wears keeps his form still with grace, the wind barely touches him - his hair remains draped across his shoulders, unmoved by the command of approaching storm. His steps are slow and rehearsed, as if he’s fought this battle a hundred times before. 

SOLDIER’s commander releases his great-sword from the cradle of his shoulder, the steel hits the floor, it’s blade slicing through life beneath it with ease. Harsh-skinned fingers hold it’s shaft tight in anticipation for their duel. With slow steps comes a steady heartbeat though getting closer to his enemy is akin to stepping closer to Oblivion. 

His enemy’s gaze never falters and beneath the downpour of oncoming tempest, neither would Heidegger’s. 

“Very well. Then you have chosen death.” 

A flick of his wrist draws his sword behind him, it’s edge splitting earth as muscle contracts in preparation for an attack. With Mighty Guard excelling his speed, the commander charges forth toward his foe. 

Godo is quick on his toes, his movement winged as he skirts immediate danger. His hands, hidden by the sleeves of his kimono, adjust themselves into a spell - the sky above them grumbles before erupting into a roar, a shot of lightning raining down upon Heidegger with unrelenting fury. His great-sword catches the blast, sending splinters of electricity into the pit of muck that surrounds them. Flecks of dirt catch his skin, as does flame and ash. It singes, not enough to scar however.

Heidegger grips his sword with both hands, raising it high above his head as he swings it around the air above him - Godo swiftly dodges it again. His movement, a dance, as he short-circuits what would be a brutal attack. One hand pushes knuckles into a bend, his knees bow as he pushes upward with the edge of his fist, bone connecting with the hair of Heidegger’s beard. The commander’s teeth catch his lips and the blood begins to pool around his snarl.

Hell entices his fury as a wave of his hand casts a blinding spell on his enemy - Godo’s eyes seal shut with force, his own hands gripping at lost sight with some desperation. In his moment of opportunity, Heidegger brings his sword back down upon the ground. Earth erupts around him and his foe, sending debris and rock upward and over Godo. Fractures of Gaia catch his foe, causing tares across his Kimono as a hue of roses taint the fabric. Heidegger readies himself to bring the sword back and forth once more but Godo casts a spell - 

a swell of air surrounds him, elements fuse as his figure morphs. 

Heidegger had heard the rumours, Wutai’s magic a thing of legend. 

He makes short distance between himself and the YOKAI, his movement ample despite his own beastly figure. 

Godo speaks no words as his heads twist and contort - multiple eyes now reopening in lieu of Heidegger’s blinding spell, his limbs shift between wielding a spell and swords. Obscene movement towers above Heidegger, grace and elegance exchanged for barbarous strength. 

“Hmph-” the commander scoffs, he indulges himself with the taste of his own blood “that’s more like it.” 

Heidegger raises his sword in both hands once more, the weapon stands proud as the beast clambers toward him. 

Before he can act, a twist of it’s spine and Godo slams his sword down toward Heidegger, he moves - but not quite fast enough - the trim of the creature’s blade catches his face. Thorny steel snatching skin, sending a zigzag of crimson down Heidegger’s face. His eye is caught in the attack and for a few moments, he finds himself bought to the floor. One knee falling against hard dirt as a hand clenches the fresh wound. 

Power harnessed by unfathomable rage, Heidegger gets back to his feet and grabs at his sword once more, he charges toward the beast - swinging steel toward it’s dragon helm in the hopes of catching it off guard. A cruel gaze pierces his offence, the dragon’s eyes opening wide before demon’s teeth smirk down at him. 

What the hell had Godo become? 

Heidegger is held prisoner for a brief moment by that watchful hold - his limbs freeze up as another roar erupts from the sky. This time, the clouds bellow deeper, the rain spills off of nothingness as a pyramid-shaped light surrounds them. The commander backs off - as much as he can - but finds himself enclosed within it’s walls. Despite the grey of the sky, his senses are blitzed with blue and gold. Hair stands on end as electricity manipulates the wind, his skin becomes hot, the blood across his face rises into the air, taking it’s place with the rain as it falls back down to earth and then…BANG. A lightning bolt like one he’s never felt before, this one enough to creep up and squeeze every vertebrae, his flesh vibrates with the singe of a bolt. 

What kind of spell is that? 

The commander finds himself lying down now, flesh burning and tender from Godo’s magic. He twitches, it’s hard to stand - but he must. He will not be defeated! 

It’s something akin to an illusion when Godo slowly makes his way toward him, the limbs of the entity fold into nothingness, the heads fall off as if they were mere masks but one thing does remain - 

his sword. 

Menacing eyes lay waste to Heidegger’s form; a wounded SOLDIER clutching scolded skin. Godo shakes his head, his form now refined once more. 

“You son-of-a-” it’s uncouth and perhaps not very sportsmanlike, but the brute doesn’t care as he pushes what’s left of his strength into another running attack. This time, his hands barely drag his sword, the steel grinding into the ground with notable strain. “You’ll pay!” A scream and an eruption of steel from the land to the sky as he prepares to crash his great-sword into Godo’s skull. 

The samurai doesn’t attempt to dodge, his fingers twist around the halt of his own sword, burrowing the katana deep into Heidegger’s chest with one swift movement. 

They stand still for a moment as men wed with their own carnage. WAR rages on around them as the world stops entirely for both commanders. 

Godo looks on; victory, perhaps not for Wutai, but for himself .

Heidegger looks back; victory not won for himself but for the ShinRa.

Time resumes as Godo frees the sword from Heidegger’s torso, his great-sword meets the earth once more in one fell swoop. 

“I-”

aching legs guide him backward before he falls to the floor. Fingers clutch the sight of his wound, he eyes the sky above as raindrops soothe his sore skin. Between the blood pooling in his eye and the blurriness of loss, he begins to lose consciousness. 

“I - we…will not lose-”


End file.
